A poem is defined as “a piece of writing in which the words are chosen for their beauty and sound and are carefully arranged, often in short lines that rhyme.”
I love this definition of a poem. Specifically the part about how “words are chosen for their beauty and sound and are carefully arranged.”
I always say that words are my currency. Sometimes, they are all I have. Especially the written word when my speech fails me. And I have to use them wisely. Every word choice must be intentional. Every word matters. It’s the craft of poetry in a nutshell.
But let’s back up. While words are the currency and essential building blocks of a poem, how do they actually come together to form a poem instead of, say, prose or flash fiction? What really makes a poem?
What Makes A Poem?
Poetry can mean a lot of different things to different people. Everybody has their own definition of poetry—what it looks like, what it sounds like. And that’s okay. That’s the wonderful thing about poetry: It’s open to interpretation.
Whether you’re free versing it, slamming it, or Instagramming it, there’s a type of poetry for everybody (readers and writers alike).
But that doesn’t mean poetry is an absolute free-for-all. There are five elements that play a role in the development of a poem.
👉 Step one is exploring these elements.
👉 Step two is choosing to ignore (or emphasize) them.
(You know how it goes. You can only break the rules once you know them!)
These elements not only guide me as I write my own poetry but also help me study the poems I read. They give me a solid jumping-off point when I have a new poem idea, and they’re fun to notice as I read. I barely scratch the surface here of everything you can say about writing a poem, but this is what I personally think about as I read and write. Let’s go through them one by one!
#1. Rhyme
Rhyme is probably the first thing you think of when you think of poetry. Most definitions of the literary form specifically call out rhyme as an important element.
Perfect vs. Slant Rhyme
This has to do with the words themselves.
First, there are rhymes that are perfect: The repetition of identical sounds in the final stressed syllables and any following syllables of two or more words. For example, “night” and “light.”
But everyone knows that there is no perfect rhyme for “orange.” No sweat! Slant rhyme, the repetition of similar, or near, sounds, is another great way to play with the music of words. It’s subtle, of course, but just as fun. For example, “orange” and “soaring.”
End vs. Internal Rhyme
This has to do with where you’re placing the words. Traditionally, you’ll usually see a perfect rhyme at the end of a line. This is where rhyme schemes come into play.
For example, you can follow a pattern such as ABBA, where the first and fourth lines rhyme perfectly and the second and third lines follow a different perfect rhyme.
Then there’s internal rhyme. This is where words within lines rhyme with each other, either perfectly or not. I like to read a poem and circle all the words that sound similar to each other. The way the sounds pull you along through the poem—I love this type of rhyme.
In my own writing, I don’t explore rhyme schemes as much as I explore internal rhyme. And, honestly, they both happen more on accident than anything. (Note to self: Be more intentional with rhyme!)
#2. Rhythm/Meter
Then there’s rhythm/meter. This is what makes poetry feel like music.
Rhythm is the combination of stressed (/) versus unstressed (x) syllables.
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Iambic: x /
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Trochaic: / x
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Spondaic: / /
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Anapestic: x x /
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Dactylic: / x x
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Each combination, take an iamb (x /) for example, represents one “foot” that can be repeated a number of times in a single line.
Iambic Pentameter, a common meter for Shakespeare, means there are five (“Pentameter”) iambs per line.
Here’s a familiar example: “Shall(x) I(/) com(x)pare(/) thee(x) to(/) a(x) sum(/)mer’s(x) day(/)?”
I tend to just write and naturally find a rhythm instead of following a strict, pre-determined structure. But in my editing phase, it’s definitely something I think about. More often than not, I fall into a series of iambs. Noted—another area to explore!
#3. Imagery
Imagery is all about showing versus telling.
In fact, imagery is the main driver of much of my poetry. I’ll be driving, looking out the windshield, notice a bus driver going the opposite way, laugh, and craft a poem based on that image. It’s the way you use words to capture an image, literally, or the sound, the taste, the feeling of a moment.
#4. Language
Honestly, I define “language” as a combination of the first three elements.
Language is how the words come alive, jump off the page. The way they sound. What they mean. How they are used to create surprise or interest.
Ultimately, it creates the mood and tone of a poem. Intentional word choice, vivid imagery, the way everything is arranged is language. Language even impacts the rhythm of a poem. Alliteration, onomatopoeia, imagery, metaphors, smilies—all tools of language.
One thing that I have personally seen as a “barrier of entry” to poetry is how poems can be difficult to understand. Depending on the era of poetry you read, this can definitely be true. But more often than not, poets leverage language not to make it overly complicated but to help the reader notice something different and look at the world from a new perspective.
#5. Line as a Composition of Unit & Thought
Finally, there’s the framework of a poem’s structure. This directly impacts how you should read and emphasize the poem. Intentional line breaks, again rhyme patterns, syntax, stanza structure all affect how you read and understand a poem.
Line breaks usually emphasize the last word of the line break—or encourage you to pause on the lingering thought. Stanza breaks create a natural pause as well and shift from one thought to the next.
The key here (and with all the other elements) is to be intentional. Why are you breaking a line there? Why are you starting a new stanza? Why five lines per stanza instead of four?
When I write, I also consider how the poems look visually. While it’s true that poetry is meant to be read out loud, I’m an artist at heart—and negative space can be just as telling.
Concluding Exercise: Write a Poé
My favorite exercise from my poetry class at college was Poé. (Side note: I Googled this and couldn’t find anything about it online. Credit for the term goes to my poetry professor, Bob Watts!)
Basically, these are “not quite there” poems. This is because you’re only focusing on one of the five elements. You give special attention to one element to see what you create. Then, later, you can build off of that exercise and incorporate other elements to create a full poem.
For example:
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Write a Poé with an ABBA near rhyme scheme
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Write three lines of iambic pentameter
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Write a paragraph about a concrete image
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Break up the paragraph from #3 into an intentional structure of lines
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This doesn’t mean every poem needs to be full of rhyme schemes and iambic pentameter, but it does mean it’s worth it to do your diligence with each of these elements. You never know what you’ll discover once you start to play with your options.
In the wise words of Mary Oliver in her book, A Poetry Handbook, “It is craft, after all, that carries an individual’s ideas to the far edge of familiar territory.”
Happy writing!
I would love a poem written about me. Lol!
I love that idea!!
So proud of you! You’re amazing!
Thanks so much Mrs Reimer – Love you!